


Aftermath

by Kaiyou



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Injury, PTSD, Post-War, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 10:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8009467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiyou/pseuds/Kaiyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akaashi was away from his three best friends when war broke out in their country. Now, after the war is over, he can finally go find them. Maybe, just maybe, he will also be able to tell them things he should've said months ago before everything went to hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> SO this was inspired by [this picture by @haruxxxxaki](http://haruxxxxaki.tumblr.com/post/109394356653/%E3%81%86%E3%81%AA%E3%81%98) and what I see in it. It does deal with some post-war issues, esp related to civilians/surviving after a war.... and of course, my OT4.

The road was dusty, full of ruts and stones that threatened to turn his ankle. The bottom of his feet felt like he’d taken a hammer to them and had been pounding for hours. He supposed that was basically what had been happening. It was strange. He was used to being on his feet all day, walking on the unsteady ground was much different than pacing down hospital corridors or standing over operating tables.

He wasn’t sure how long the road was. Five, ten miles? He was grateful that his status had allowed him to use a pass to ride on a bus to one of the nearby villages, at least. The countryside he’d passed through was full of reminders of devastation. There were still burned out buildings in some of the towns they’d passed through, reminders of bombings that no one had the resources to repair. So many of the fields he’d walked past were empty. So many farmers had been cut down by roving groups of insurgents, or pulled and pressed into military service. In the end, they’d won, but the wounds in his country ran deep.

Akaashi was only thankful that those most important to him had been spared.

He’d spent most of the war not knowing whether they were alive or dead. Before the invasion, he’d stayed behind while the three of them went off on vacation. He was supposed to have gone with them. It was their celebration journey, a summer backpacking through the mountains and just enjoying each other’s company. He’d wanted to go with them. There had been things he’d finally worked up the courage to say, halting confessions he’d always stopped himself from making. But the hospital he was doing his residency at had called him, told him he had to attend some training sessions a week after they were all scheduled to leave. He had promised he would come join them afterward.

But then the war came, and everything went to hell.

He’d spent the next few months doing triage, stitching people up and fighting for the medications and supplies to keep his patients alive. He’d learned what it meant to lose people on the table. He’d learned life was even more precious than he’d realized, throwing himself into trying to save everyone he could, trying to ignore the fact that he didn’t know the fate of the people he loved most in this world outside his own immediate family.

Things let up a little bit when they won the war. There weren’t as many emergencies to take care of - most of the time it was just complications and figuring out how to stitch people back together who’d given everything to win. Somewhere in the midst of late nights and early mornings Akaashi had received a letter. It had been sent to the hospital where he’d done his residency and forwarded to the new hospital he was working at. The censors had opened it, of course, sealing it back together with striped red and white tape. There were stains, and notes on the outside rerouting it to all the places where Akaashi had worked. But none of that mattered because Bokuto was alive.

Kuroo was alive.

Kozume was alive.

They’d survived the war. Bokuto hadn’t said much about what had happened. Akaashi had a million questions, but the infrastructure damage meant that they had to rely on surface mail to communicate, and that meant long gaps between letters. It worried Akaashi that only Bokuto wrote to him. It also bothered him that the three of them wouldn’t come back to the city, even when Akaashi offered to arrange transportation. There was something his best friend was keeping secret. He knew it, deep within his bones, knew something was wrong and it terrified him. But there was nothing to be done while he was still needed at the hospital.

Finally, he managed to secure some extended leave from his supervisors. He wrote Bokuto immediately about it. Bokuto had written back with words full of excitement and a hand-drawn map that Akaashi stuck up on his wall and looked at every morning while waiting for the day of his leave to come.

Now finally, finally, he was close.

He took the last left on the map, entering into the cool shade of the trees. The road here was narrow. There was a deep gouge in the dirt, a miniature canyon carved out by a trickling stream of water. He stayed to the side, walking close to the grass that was trying to take over the road. The path wound up through the jungle trees, hiding each turn from view. Heart beating in his throat, Akaashi sped up, not caring now about the pain in his feet. He was almost there.

He came around the last curve and drew in a breath.

There was the compound, just as Bokuto had mentioned. An old rundown two-story shack that had once been some sort of hostel for backpackers, and an outbuilding that contained a kitchen and dining hall. And there, in front of the whole thing, a garden, filled with rows of vegetables just ready to harvest.

And there, kneeling in the dirt -

“Kenma,” Akaashi said.

He didn’t realize what he’d said was out loud until he saw the other man jump to his feet, dropping his basket. Green and yellow vegetables tumbled to the ground. Akaashi barely noticed. Kenma’s eyes went wide with fear for a second, then settled into a look of recognition before shuttering completely. They stared at each other. Akaashi wanted to drop his backpack and rush forward, hold him, tell him all the things that he’d never had the courage to admit to anyone. His heart was beating right out of his chest. There was Kenma. Beautiful. Perfect. Alive. He was wearing an oversized white shirt and loose pants, and his hair was grown out and gathered into a high ponytail, but it was still him.

Kenma turned on his heel and walked off toward the outbuilding without a word.

Akaashi didn’t know what to do.

The only sound he heard was the singing of insects in the trees.

Kenma had just walked away from him. He hadn’t seen Kenma in over a year and he’d just walked away. It hurt like a punch in the gut, and he didn’t know what to do.

Finally, he stepped forward, moving to the fence that surrounded the vegetable garden. The basket was still on the ground. Vegetables - squash and zucchinis, he realized - were still scattered. Numbly he moved around, picking up the basket and gathering the fallen produce. It was food. Food was a scarcity these days.

He wondered absently if Kenma was thinner.

“Akaaashi!” roared a booming voice.

Leaving the basket on the ground Akaashi stood, barely bracing himself before Bokuto caught him up in a tight hug. Here. This. Akaashi hugged him back, fingers curling into his best friend’s back. This was real. This was good. He wanted to step back and see Bokuto but he couldn’t let go. This was his Bokuto. This was his best friend. This was the reason he tried so hard to save lives. This man, right here, was life.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto murmured, hands sliding under the backpack to pull him even closer. Akaashi had dreamed about these hands, about this hug, about more. Why life had to be so complicated, he didn’t know. It had been bad enough before the war, but now -

He pulled back and looked up into Bokuto’s golden eyes. “I missed you, Bokuto-san,” he murmured, trying to read everything on the other man’s face. He wanted to kiss him. He was hungry to kiss him, hungry to do what he’d been wanting to do for years but had never admitted. A part of him said this was exactly the moment he should kiss Bokuto. If this was a romance film, he would’ve done it.

Fear stopped him.

Fear always stopped him.

Fear that he rationalized as politeness, as being sensible, because even if they had been writing letters back and forth time had still passed. Things had happened. From the way Kenma had reacted when he saw him, a lot of things.

“Where is Kuroo-san?” Akaashi asked.

A look crossed Bokuto’s face that had Akaashi’s fingers tightening on his shoulders. Fear of a different sort shot through him like ice.

“He’s resting,” Bokuto said, tension evident in his voice. It was true and not true. “Ah, come on, come on, let’s get these vegetables back up to the kitchen, shall we? I know Kenma’s planning to use them for dinner. I traded with the farmers down the road for some butter, and we got the generator working last month so we can finally keep things in the freezer. The chickens are laying eggs now too. I think he might even be willing to use some of our meat tonight since you’re here and all.

Akaashi stepped back and looked down. “He didn’t seem very pleased to see me,” he murmured, one hand clutching the other.

“It’s -” Bokuto started, glancing back at the outbuilding. “It’s complicated. Kenma - he’s still Kenma, I promise. He’s just - well. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

Akaashi followed Bokuto back up to the outbuilding, a low thrum of worry echoing in his veins. Kenma was in the kitchen when they got there. He glanced at Akaashi once and then went back to cutting up some meat on a long wooden counter. Bokuto urged Akaashi to sit down on one of the stools up against a low table in the center and then went over to a bucket to rinse off the squash and zucchini. Bokuto’s voice filled the empty space in the room, talking about people back home that he’d been able to get in touch with. Akaashi answered random questions that his best friend shot at him, but couldn’t help watching Kenma’s back as he worked. He hadn’t said a word since they’d entered the room. He and Bokuto worked together seamlessly to put a meal together, Bokuto building a fire in a large black stove that sat against one wall.

There didn’t seem to be anything for him to do. He looked around, wondering where Kuroo was. “Is Kuroo-san going to join us?” he asked as they brought the food over to the table.

Bokuto and Kenma exchanged a look.

“Ah,” Bokuto said, “Kenma will take him some food later. He hasn’t been feeling well.”

“Is he sick?” Akaashi asked. “You know I’m a doctor, I could -”

A fork slammed down onto one of the plates. Akaashi looked over to where Kenma was viciously sawing through some of the meat he’d cut up earlier. He didn’t say anything, but Akaashi could feel the anger radiating off of him.

He didn’t understand.

It hurt.

Helpless, he looked over at Bokuto, but the other man was watching Kenma. There was a sorrow in his eyes that made Akaashi want to gather him in his arms and comfort him. He’d thought from Bokuto’s letters that the three of them had been able to avoid the conflict, that they’d just been cut off from the outside world while the war raged on.

Now, Akaashi was starting to have some doubts.

He reached out and picked up the metal cup of water next to his plate. There were secrets here, secrets that shouldn’t exist between the four of them. But he was here now.

He’d figure it out.

They ate dinner in silence. Bokuto made a few attempts at conversation, but it was evident as his words slowed that he was exhausted. “Sorry Akaashi,” he muttered after almost falling asleep at the table. “It’s been a long day. I’ll probably be going to sleep early tonight, ok? Yes yes, I know, Kenma, I’ll take a bath first.”

Akaashi glanced over at Kenma, catching the blond’s small nod.

“Ah,” Bokuto said, “we haven’t had a chance to clean up one of the bedrooms for you yet. I wasn’t really sure how fast you’d be able to make it here, with all the outages, I’m sorry. There’s a futon made up for you in the main dining hall for tonight, is that alright? I can come in and sleep with you if you want. Ah, I mean, I’ve got a futon here too, um.”

When Akaashi looked at Bokuto there was a faint flush on his cheeks, and he was looking between at everywhere but the two of them. It made Akaashi’s heart hurt. “That would be fine, Bokuto-san, if that’s what you want.”

“Yeah,” Bokuto murmured, yawning. “We can talk until I fall asleep, you know? Though I really should get that bath now.”

Kenma pushed up from the table and gathered their plates, taking them over to the bucket in the sink. Akaashi watched him, standing when Bokuto came over and led him out into the main dining area. The other man’s words were a string of nonsensical stories about the jungle outside. According to Bokuto, there were owls that lived in the trees. He’d seen one, he was pretty sure. Akaashi got the feeling that the story was probably more hope than reality, but he didn’t mind. It was Bokuto. That was all.

He left Akaashi to his own devices before going to take a bath. For a few minutes, Akaashi busied himself with unpacking a few things from his backpack. He wondered about going to take a bath with Bokuto. It hadn’t really been offered, but he was dusty from the road, so it wouldn’t hurt. The sounds of movement in the kitchen distracted him, and eventually, he stood from where he’d been seated near the futon, walking over to watch Kenma through a crack in the door.

He didn’t mean to spy, not really.

It was just that Kenma was getting ready to leave the kitchen anyway, a plate of food in his hand.

Kuroo. He was taking food to Kuroo.

Akaashi rationalized his next actions by deciding that he just wanted to see what was wrong with Kuroo. He was a doctor, after all, and if Kuroo needed medical help he was the one best qualified to assess the problem. So he snuck out behind Kenma, watching as the other walked over to the main building and climbed the creaky wooden stairs before entering into one of the rooms.

He wasn’t spying. That wasn’t his intention. They were his best friends, after all.

He just wanted to know what was wrong.

The window to the room that Kenma had entered had curtains, but there was enough of a sliver for Akaashi to peer inside. Kenma had lit a candle on a table in the corner and placed the plate next to it. Kuroo was leaning against a window on the far wall, cheek pressed against the glass.

“It smells good tonight,” Kuroo said.

Kenma didn’t answer. Instead, he just busied himself arranging things on the table.

“Is that meat? It smells like meat. I wonder if it’s one of the chickens, or if Bokuto caught something in the jungle again,” Kuroo said.

Sighing, Kenma glanced over at Kuroo and then back down at the plate. His hands were tightening into fists at his side.

“I feel good today,” Kuroo continued. “I like having the chickens outside the window. I sometimes worry that one of the animals from the jungle will come and try to eat them, you know? You and Bo worked so hard to get them, I’d hate for us to lose them because of a predator. I bet I could -”

Kenma hit something on the table. A salt shaker, Akaashi thought. The blond’s whole body was tense.

“Ok, fine,” Kuroo murmured. “I’m sorry, I know. I just wish - ah well. Come here?”

Swallowing Kenma stepped back from the table. Slender hands reached down to the bottom of his too-large shirt, pulling it up and tossing it to the side. Akaashi gasped. Kenma’s body was beautiful, gorgeous - and obviously malnourished. Pale skin was stretched tight over his rib bones, and the muscles Akaashi had watched during their matches in high school had withered away into almost nothing.

Kenma’s pants followed his shirt. He stepped out of them and walked over to Kuroo, putting his hands on his shoulders. Akaashi blinked. He shouldn’t be watching this. He couldn’t find it in himself to pull away, not when he was so close to figuring out what was wrong. The fact that one of the men he’d had a crush on for years was standing there in nothing but his underwear as only part of the reason he didn’t leave.

Sighing, Kuroo pulled him closer, fingertips tracing down Kenma’s sides. “That’s better,” he murmured. “You’re quiet again tonight. I miss your voice - yeah, I know. You’re still not eating enough. Akaashi might bring apples when he comes. I bet Bokuto could pick up some flour when he goes into town, you think? Then maybe you could have apple pie again. You would eat apple pie, right? Not just give everything to me and Bo, and act like you aren’t hungry?”

Shrugging, Kenma lifted a hand to brush the hair back out of his face, and then he looked back over his shoulder.

Straight at Akaashi.

Akaash froze, watching Kenma’s stare shift into something more challenging, almost seductive. Swallowing he stepped back and ran into a wall of solid flesh.

“Akaashi?” Bokuto asked. “What are you doing?”

“Bokuto?” Kuroo said from inside. “Is that you? Who are you talking to?”

“Ah,” Bokuto said, holding onto Akaashi’s shoulders. “That is, well -”

“Is that Akaashi?” Kuroo asked. “You didn’t tell me Akaashi was here, Kenma - I mean - couldn’t you have - for that?”

Akaashi felt trapped, stomach sour with guilt at what he’d been doing, at the fact that he’d been caught. The look Bokuto was giving him made him feel doubly ashamed.

“It is Akaashi, yeah,” Bokuto said, still watching him, “but - we’ll just go back down, sorry to bother you -”

“No, wait! I want to - well not see him - ow, Kenma, I know that isn’t funny, but -”

Akaashi twisted in Bokuto’s grasp, mortified. “Bokuto-san, I -”

Wait.

The dots started to connect in his mind.

He looked up at Bokuto, finally understanding some of what was hidden in his gaze. “Kuroo-san is -?” he asked.

Sighing, Bokuto nodded. “Well,” he said, herding Akaashi toward the door, “We hadn’t really talked about how to tell you - but yeah.”

When they entered the room, Kuroo had moved into a chair at the table. Kenma was sitting in his lap, curled around and staring at them like a silent cat, one of Kuroo’s arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Akaashi was mortified that he’d been watching the two of them together. They’d always been close before, close enough that it had added to Akaashi’s hesitance to ask either one of them out. That was before he’d come to the conclusion that what he wanted wasn’t a matter of either or.

“Akaashi?” Kuroo asked.

“I”m here, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi said, allowing Bokuto to push him closer to the table.

“Can I touch you? I mean, I guess you can see - well, I hope you can - that uh, I can’t.”

Hesitant, Akaashi looked back at Bokuto, who nodded. Kenma’s stare as he moved closer to them was a bit unnerving. The candlelight glinting off his bare skin was distracting. Akaashi wondered exactly what he’d lost by not confessing before the war. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought that, but it was so much different when the people he loved were all right here, gathered together, and one of them was looking at him with such scorn.

“Right here,” Akaashi murmured, pulling up a chair and sitting close.

Kuroo reached out and pat his shoulder, fingers sliding up to stroke Akaashi’s face. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said.

“Me too,” Akaashi replied, turning his face into the hand and closing his eyes. He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to say, but emotions clogged his throat. “Kuroo, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know - if I’d known, I would’ve tried to come sooner - I should’ve been with you -”

“Hey, hey,” Kuroo murmured, patting his cheek. “No, no. I’ll be ok. No treatment for this anyways, and I might get better, I think. It could happen, right? Eyes can heal. It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault except for - well. No one here is to blame. No one, you hear?”

It sounded like something he’d said before.

Kenma was looking at his lap now, holding tightly to Kuroo’s body. Akaashi wondered what had happened. He wondered what had happened to his best friends while they’d been apart. Guilt wracked his heart - guilt for not going with them when they’d planned, not coming to them as soon as he found out they were alive, not telling them all how he felt when he had the chance.

Hands curled around Akaashi’s shoulders, massaging gently. “He’s right,” Bokuto said. “None of us saw this coming. No one’s to blame here. And we’re back together now, and that’s what’s important, right?”

Akaashi nodded, shuddering slightly, feeling the tears gathering in his eyes and spilling over. Kuroo’s thumb brushed through the track it left on his cheek. Blame or not, he still felt like he should’ve been there for them. “Will you tell me?” he asked. “Tell me what happened, and when, and let me examine you - did something happen to Kenma, too? Is that why you won’t -”

Kenma sighed, and Kuroo’s arm tightened around him.

“Ah,” Kuroo murmured, nuzzling the top of Kenma’s head, “yeah. Things happened, but it’s, ah.”

“Complicated,” Bokuto murmured, fingers tightening on Akaashi’s shoulders.

Kenma glanced up at him then, eyes showing more hurt than accusation this time.

“I should’ve been there for you,” Akaashi said, heart aching at the look Kenma gave him in response to his words. “If I would’ve been here, would things have -”

“No,” Kuroo said, voice harsh.

“It might’ve been worse,” Bokuto said, dropping down to hug Akaashi from behind. “And none of us - if they’d gotten their hands on you as well -”

“None of us would’ve wanted that,” Kuroo said.

Kenma’s eyes were steady, then he looked to the side, nodding slightly.

Akaashi wanted to hold him.

Akaashi wanted to hold all of them.

His beautiful best friends.

His beautiful, strong, brave, foolish, wonderful, funny, hopefully, sarcastic best friends. Best friends that he loved more than almost anyone else in the world.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, tears spilling down his face in earnest. His body was racked with sobs as he thought about everything that had happened, all the things he’d locked away. Horrors he’d witnessed. Things that might’ve happened to them. Stories he’d heard about what the invaders did to civilians. It tore him up inside.

“Shh, shh,” Bokuto murmured, nuzzling his neck. “Hey, calm down Akaashi, ok? It’ll be ok. Damn, my knees are gonna give out. Too bad I can’t hold you on my lap.”

“You can,” Akaashi blurted out, hearing Bokuto’s intake of breath. He turned to look at him, heart beating in his throat. “You can if you want. It doesn’t bother me. It never -”

“Akaashi,” Bokuto murmured, wonder in his eyes.

He didn’t deserve that. He should never have made Bokuto worry about touching him, holding him. He’d shied away from the other man’s confessions so many times, knowing he couldn’t commit his whole heart. Foolish. He’d been foolish. “I was -” he started, glancing over at Kuroo and Kenma before looking down at his hands. “I was going to ask, tell...”

“What, Akaashi?” Bokuto murmured, fingers tentatively reaching up to card through his curly hair.

Swallowing, Akaashi murmured, “On the trip. I was going to talk to you all. Just - I couldn’t choose, and so I was going to ask you -”

But now it seemed obvious that things had changed. Kuroo had a lap full of Kenma, and his three best friends had gone through hell without him there. He felt like he’d lost something precious, let it slip through his fingers, watched it be torn away and replaced with bandages and scalpels and blood.

Bokuto still cared for him. That much seemed obvious. And he loved Bokuto, loved him desperately, wanted to be held and hold him in return. He could be happy with Bokuto. Happy just being with the three of them again, no matter what.

“Do you want to choose?” Kuroo finally said.

“What?” Akaashi asked.

“Oh,” Bokuto said, “Oh! Oh, do you mean -”

“Yes,” Kenma murmured, voice low and almost inaudible.

His eyes were anything but meek as they stared at Akaashi, though.

Akaashi sucked in a breath. Kenma’s eyes said so many things, things he didn’t understand. They didn’t say forgiveness. They still said hurt and anger, but there was something -

Maybe love.

Kenma looked away.

Pulling him closer, Kuroo hummed softly. “Huh.”

Frowning, Akaashi looked back at Bokuto. He looked a bit sheepish. “What?” Akaashi asked again.

“Well, you see Akaashi,” Bokuto said, scratching the back of his neck. “Ah, you kinda, don’t have to choose if you don’t want to. Well, maybe.”

Akaashi still felt confused.

“We already -” Kuroo said, then sighed. “We kinda talked about it, the possibility of it, one night before all hell broke loose. Didn’t do anything about it because we all wanted to talk to you about it, too. But then everything happened, and, well, we needed it. Needed each other. Kenma, ah.”

Akaashi looked at Kenma, who was snuggling closer to Kuroo, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt. It was obvious something was broken there, and that it wasn’t physical. Kuroo was broken too. Hell, even Bokuto might be broken in ways Akaashi hadn’t seen yet.

But then again, he was a bit shattered inside himself.

Maybe they could heal the brokenness together. Grow together as the cracks mended, lending each other their strength. He could live with that.

He could live.

He was together with his best friends again, best friends who loved him, who might even want him. “I need you too,” he murmured. “If you’ll have me.”

“Akaashi!” Bokuto said, hopping up and pulling Akaashi into an embrace.

Laughing softly, Akaashi said, “I mean, I don’t want to rush anything.”

Kenma was still looking down. Akaashi had the feeling that working things out with him wouldn’t be as easy as working things out with Bokuto, who had now sat down in the chair and was pulling Akaashi into his lap and holding him close. But Kuroo was reaching out for him, finding Akaashi’s hand, intertwining their fingers together.

“It’s enough right now just to have you here,” Kuroo said.

“Yeah! And this means we don’t have to sleep on the futons tonight, I bet. Can we share the bed? All of us?”

“Ah, wait,” said Akaashi. “I’m not sure I’m ready for -”

“Just sleeping,” Kuroo murmured, chuckling. “Well, probably.”

“Food first,” Kenma muttered, reaching across the table and pulling the plate of food into his lap.

“Oh yeah,” Kuroo said, kissing the top of Kenma’s head again.

“Yeah, food first, and then - gah - I’m so glad you’re with us, Akaashi,” Bokuto said.

“Me too,” Akaashi murmured. He watched as Kenma carefully lifted bites of food to Kuroo’s mouth, eyes focused on every movement. Bokuto hummed softly, holding Akaashi close and pressing little kisses to his shoulder. Together. Broken, but together.

Hope.

The war had torn them apart, made them casualties, tried to strip them of everything most important. But in the end, it wouldn’t win.

In the end, they had survived, even if they were the worse for wear.

They’d just have to figure out how to get better, one day at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> I may continue this at some point? To expand on the story. Will have to see.


End file.
